'And when they came to the open land
They wheeled, deployed, and stood.'
It is perfect poetry concerning the machine-like movements of highly-trained troops.
The death of an earl that occurs in a moment of battle: we can almost see the blow, the quick change on the face from life to death; we can almost hear the death gurgle:
'Earl Harold, as in pain,
Strove for a smile, put hand to head,
Stumbled and suddenly fell dead,
And the small white daisies all waxed red
With blood out of his brain.'
Of the tremendous power of a charge, Chesterton can give us the meaning in two lines that might otherwise take a page of prose:
'Spears at the [charge!'] yelled Mark amain,
'Death to the gods of Death.'
Whether it be to victory or defeat, the last charge grips the imagination, just as the latest words of a great man are remembered long after he has turned to dust. The final charge of the Old Guard, the remnant of Napoleon's ill-fated army at Waterloo, the dying words of Nelson, these are the things that produce great poetry.
Some of the verses describing the last charge at Enthandune are the finest lines Chesterton has so far written. It will not be out of place to quote one or two of the best—the challenge of Alfred to his followers to make an effort against the dreaded Danes, at whose very name strong men would pale:
'Brothers-at-arms,' said Alfred,
'On this side lies the foe;
Are slavery and starvation flowers,
That you should pluck them so?'
Or the death of the Danish leader, who would have pierced Alfred through and through: